Ghosts of the Past
by magicalyoyo
Summary: Adrien's ring has been stolen and he's living with a supervillain, who is watching his every move. After losing the powers of Chat Noir, can he find a way to remain a hero, or is Ladybug on her own now? Sequel to Good Ol' Fashion Nightmare. Crossposted to ao3 under the same username.
1. Chapter 1

Sometimes, Marinette mused, the biggest push towards publicly identifying herself as Ladybug was the possibility of days off school.

Then again, class was a welcome distraction today. For the fourth night in a row, sleep was elusive, slipping away for good as the dawning sun began to shine through her windows. After pacing the length of her bedroom for an hour, cleaning the bakery display cases and staring blankly at her sketchbook, Marinette had arrived at school early, for once. Kim and Alix gaped at her as they fell into the classroom, out of breath from their usual morning wrestling match in the hallway. Any jokes about her uncharacteristic punctuality, however, were cut off as Alya dropped onto the bench beside Marinette, greeting her with a light kiss.

"Friday, you looked like you were about to keel over. You didn't answer ANY of my texts this weekend, and today, not only do you look like a raccoon again, but you're _early_. Who do I have to fight?"

Marinette rested her head against Alya's shoulder, burying her face in soft red hair. "You don't need to fight anyone. I - I just had nightmares."

As Marinette breathed in the calming scents of coconut and fresh laundry, Nino and Adrien walked into the classroom. Marinette pulled away from Alya for a moment to allow her to greet her boyfriend.

"Hey." Adrien smiled at her. He looked better than she felt - at least until she noticed traces of foundation hurriedly streaked under his eyes and his absentminded fidgeting.

"Morning. How-how are you?" The familiar greeting felt both distant and intimate. Yesterday, while sitting on Master Fu's couch, they decided not to draw attention to themselves by with a sudden public relationship shift. After all, Gabriel still didn't know Marinette was Ladybug, and would no doubt be keeping close, suspicious watch over his son. Paranoid? Maybe. But Marinette was not willing to risk her family and friends, and Adrien agreed.

He shrugged noncommittally in response to her question, but his face told her everything. Without thinking, Marinette put a hand on his shoulder as he sat down in front of her, trying to reassure her partner. Adrien jumped slightly before pushing lightly against her palm, back arching like an affectionate cat demanding to be petted, and she surprised herself with a quiet laugh.

Alya stared at them in complete and utter shock - she couldn't have been more surprised if Marinette had transformed into Ladybug right then and there. Marinette's cell phone vibrated with a deluge of texts from Alya as Ms. Bustier called the class to attention.

 _I was so proud of you for graduating to WHOLE SENTENCES_

 _and now there's shoulder touching_

 _Explain ?_

 _You're sleeping over at my place tonight_

 _you will tell me everything_

 _And if you have another nightmare I will PUNCH IT IN THE FACE_

 _because this is obviously messing you up enough to make you have a normal human exchange with Boy Wonder_

 _and INITIATING PHYSICAL CONTACT_

Alya's insatiable curiosity never failed to cheer her up, even when it was inconvenient. The messages continued to pour in, and Marinette quickly silenced her phone to stem the incessant buzz. Her gaze shifted to Adrien's blond hair, and she nearly screamed with frustration. He was so close, but they couldn't risk drawing attention to themselves with plans and plotting. She had to find an excuse for them to spend time together, alone.

After what felt like days, class finally ended and the students were dismissed for their lunch period. Marinette stopped Adrien as he stood up from the desk.

"Hey, uh. So. I was... I've been trying to learn some Chinese to surprise my mom on her birthday, and I was wondering if you could maybe help?" She maintained eye contact, fighting the reflexive blush that washed over her face. Learning that Adrien and Chat Noir were the same person had shocked the stuttering and embarrassment right out of her mind, but evidently her body was going to take a while to come to terms with the whole situation.

His expression changed from bewilderment to comprehension as Marinette raised her eyebrows meaningfully.

"Sure, I'd love to! I can come over to your place after school today."

Nino and Alya peered through the large windows separating the hallway and classroom before turning to each other in astonishment, eyes wide as saucers.

Adrien stood outside the school, waiting for the car to arrive and carry him the three blocks home for lunch. The short drives always made him feel silly and wasteful, but he didn't protest; he was already pushing his luck while he waited on tenterhooks for his father to confront him.

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us?" Nino pouted at his friend. "Marinette's mom always makes quiche on Mondays."

"Sorry, I have piano lessons tomorrow and I haven't practiced since last week. Thanks, though!" Lying still felt wrong – though it was true that he'd been sorely neglecting his music practice – and Adrien bit his lip to quell the nausea of guilt that rose in his throat as Nino, Alya and Marinette crossed the street. At the same time, he was relieved to escape two hours of questioning. He winced when Marinette cast a plaintive look over her shoulder as he clambered into the silver car, and reminded himself to get the details of the story she told Alya and Nino. _Nothing_ would make them more suspicious than conflicting information, and he was fully expecting to be grilled repeatedly over the next few days.

But this was an opportunity he couldn't miss.

Agreste Fashion's top executives gathered every Monday, meeting with Gabriel himself to discuss whatever crises had arisen over the past week. Adrien had never been sure what these crises _were,_ and never curious enough to ask – his only interest now was the period of three or so hours this afternoon in which his father would be seated in a five star restaurant surrounded by cowering employees… safely away from the mansion.

Gabriel had not spoken a word to him since Adrien had arrived home early Sunday morning, after he made his way through back entrances and skirted security cameras to slip into his room. When Nathalie called to wake him up for Chinese lessons, there was no hint of suspicion or mention of an unscheduled meeting with his father. Monsieur Agreste had more important things to worry about, it seemed; or maybe he just didn't want to confront his son and remember how he'd left Adrien fading, soaked in blood, on the chapel's stone floor.

 _No, that would require a heart._

He had no doubts that his father knew exactly who Chat Noir was, or had been – the crumbling walls of _Église des Anges_ were probably composed of equal amounts stone and top-of-the-line cameras.

Adrien yanked open the door after car pulled through the huge iron gates that separated the Agreste mansion from the outside world, barely waiting for the vehicle to stop, and ran inside.

Instead of entering the spacious piano room, Adrien carefully checked for housekeeping staff before slipping into the security office attached to the entrance hall. Screens displaying the various security feeds were scattered throughout the house, but they only showed current footage. Adrien, however, was looking for something else as he logged into the computer, using Nathalie's password gleaned from an evening of snooping the day before, and opened the folder containing the video from Saturday night. He selected a file labeled office_ga1, fast forwarding through several hours until a flicker of motion appeared in the corner of the screen.

The camera, fixed on the portrait of Mrs. Agreste, showed the figure of Gabriel pacing in and out of the mechanical field of view, halting with each rotation – Adrien assumed he was looking at the computer on his desk, which was just out of the frame – before the designer pulled himself to his full height and began to speak to the apparently empty room. For the first time, Adrien wished the surveillance software was equipped to pick up sound.

After several minutes of silently moving lips, Gabriel pulled the portrait aside and opened the safe hidden behind it. His movements were hidden as he faced away from the camera, but Adrien recognized the motions as he removed _something_ from the breast of the immaculate white suit jacket. The boy's stomach dropped when Gabriel pulled a silver ring from his left hand.

He didn't know why his father would leave not one, but _two,_ miraculous items in his office, but it didn't matter at the moment.

Plagg was _here._

Not that the knowledge in itself did either of them any good. Even if Adrien could open the safe without Plagg's help, and even if the oversight that had allowed them to delete the evidence of his _previous_ break-in had not been quickly corrected, his father would know exactly who had been in the safe. Adrien would deal with the consequences without a moment's hesitation… _if_ he could actually get his ring back. Blowing the heroes' one advantage without the slimmest chance of success wasn't an option, and no matter how tempting it was, he couldn't charge in on a dramatic rescue mission.

 _However… Maybe Ladybug's kwami could help._ He filed the thought away to be discussed with Marinette that afternoon. It would still be difficult, and dangerous, but for the first time since Saturday night, Adrien felt a glimmer of hope.


	2. Chapter 2

Marinette scurried around her room, gathering up remnants of fabric and loose bobbins that lay scattered haphazardly across her desk and floor and dumping them in a handy corner. She glanced at her mostly-bare walls; she'd removed all the photos of Adrien several minutes before, but then began to question her decision – he'd seen her room as Chat already, would he notice the pictures were missing? Or would he wonder why there were photos of her other friends but not him?

She groaned. _We are meeting to talk about how to fight his father, who also happens to be our literal archenemy. My room is not the important part here._

 _Still…_ she considered the stretch of blank space over her computer, before carefully pinning her favorite image, a fall shoot of Adrien reclining in a casual suit, back into its usual spot. She also removed the Chat Noir puppet from her desk drawer and settled it on top of her sewing machine. _There._ That wasn't enough to be creepy or stalker-ish, and his absence relative to Alya, Nino and their other classmates was no longer conspicuous.

Tikki, who had curled up in the loft to avoid the… er, _exuberant_ bought of cleaning, chirped "Marinette! Time to go back to school!"

Marinette collapsed onto her pink chaise and considered napping the rest of the afternoon instead of returning to class. She wasn't quite ready to face Alya and Nino again, whose questioning had been cut short by Marinette's panicked impulse to tidy her bedroom.

As if alerted to her thoughts, her phone beeped with a new text.

From ADRIEN 3 3: _Alya and Nino cornered me in the gym HELP what did you tell them_

 _Shit._ She quickly typed back, using one hand and pulling her shoes back on with the other, ' _On my way, I didn't tell them anything!'_

…

Adrien and Marinette climbed the stairs leading up to her bedroom. Adrien was hauling a stack of his old Chinese texts and workbooks, while Marinette struggled to balance several plates of pastries and assorted snacks that had been thrust upon them by Sabine. He caught the scent of fresh bread, tripped on a step and nearly fell flat on his face, distracted by the sudden rush of demands from his stomach. Marinette glanced back, concerned, as he stumbled into the wall and quickly righted himself, pretending that nothing had happened. He suppressed the urge to lick his paw – _hand,_ his _hand -_ nonchalantly. Even without the miraculous, old habits die hard. Then again, Ladybug never seemed to suffer any side effects, so maybe it was just a result of homeschooling, limited social contact and watching too many cat videos in his formative years.

Marinette shifted a stack of cookies and used her elbow to push open the wooden trapdoor that led to her room. Adrien followed her up, marveling once again at how _Marinette_ the space was – soft and pink, scattered with half-finished projects and mementos. He spotted a photo of himself hanging above her desk, between a shockingly lifelike pencil sketch of Alya and one of the school portraits taken in the park after the Reflekta incident. Normally he hated pictures of himself – they papered the walls of his mansion, cold and empty – but this time he felt a bright blush fizz through his cheeks.

Marinette plopped into her desk chair and spun around to face him, but overestimated her momentum and made an extra full circle before squeaking to a halt. Her ears were tinged pink. She practically threw a cookie at him, which bounced off his reflexively outstretched hand and onto the wooden floorboards. She froze, her huge blue eyes fixed momentarily on the ceiling hatch that must lead to her balcony, before meeting his bemused stare.

Adrien was used to seeing Marinette flustered; for whatever reason, she never seemed comfortable around him. But now, knowing that she was _Ladybug…_ the experience was disconcerting and _wrong_. The part of his brain that usually remained locked in a little box labeled _Chat Noir_ scrambled for control of his motor functions, and he flashed her a toothy grin before snatching the cookie off the floor and stuffing the entire thing into his mouth. He immediately regretted his decision, eyes watering as he choked on what felt like an avalanche of crumbs, until Marinette started to giggle. No, not giggle.

She _cackled_.

"So then. Teach me some Chinese, white boy."

…

Lila buried her face in her hands. "I don't _want_ to go back to that school, mamma."

"Honey, I know your first week was difficult, but your father and I agree that it's important for you to acclimate to the new culture, and school is a big part of that." Her mother's Italian had a gentle French lilt. Lila grimaced; mamma just wanted her out of the way to make time to meet up with her childhood friends. Because _she_ had friends here, having grown up in Paris – it didn't matter that her daughter was probably the laughingstock of her peers by now.

"Can't you just hire a tutor? It's not like we'll be staying in France for more than a few months, anyway. We never do."

Her mother's face was sympathetic but stern. They'd had this conversation nearly every day over the past week and a half, and Lila hated herself every time she heard the whine in her voice, but forcing herself through the door every morning was more than she could bear. At least she wasn't in the same class as Adrien, whom she hadn't been able to face since Ladybug had interrupted them in the park.

 _Why does it have to be Paris, with its stupid superheroes and its stupid language and… it's just awful. Why does anyone live here?_

She stormed out of the room and slammed the door loudly to drown out the teary gasp she hadn't been able to stifle.

 _I wanted people to like me and I messed it up, and now I have_ another _city of kids who hate me._

An inhuman voice – no, an all _too_ human voice, she felt its anger and pain – echoed in her mind, cutting through the harsh sobs.

" _Lila…_ I would like to make you another offer. After all, I believe we have some mutual desires."

She wanted to laugh. " _You_ again? You made everything worse. Why should I be your pawn again?"

"Clever, my sly little fox. However, I would like to propose something different – a partnership, if you will."


	3. Chapter 3

Apparently Marinette's request for Chinese lessons wasn't just a cover. Adrien, who had been questioning his decision to haul the stack of old textbooks, was relieved when she glanced at his confused face - still red from the coughing fit - and laughed.

"Where would we be if someone asks why I haven't learned any new words after studying for weeks?"

So that was that. Tikki retreated to nap in a spot of sunlight in Marinette's loft as they threw themselves into the basics, neither one ready to delve into more serious matters.

"Are you sure you're new at this?" Adrien was surprised at how quickly Marinette picked up the information, for someone who apparently hadn't spoken a word of Mandarin when he had translated for her uncle last month.

"Yes! Well. Uh. Kind of?"

He raised an eyebrow and she elaborated.

"I've been studying a little since my uncle visited, online and stuff." She fumbled with her pencil and stifled a laugh as Adrien lifted his eyebrow even farther.

"You're speaking like you've had months of lessons, and it's all from a few sessions on duolingo?"

"I guess I spoke it when I was a little kid, because my grandparents stayed with us for a year? But I forgot it all-" Marinette's words trailed off as Adrien let out a whoop of triumph.

"Ha! I knew you weren't just perfect at everything!"

Her eyes went wide. "You - I - me? Perfect at everything?"

"Uh, yeah, hello. Designer, video game champion, literal superhero, and definitely the most amazing girl in Paris?"

Adrien thought he knew how flustered Marinette could get.

He was wrong.

Ten minutes later, he'd managed to coax her out from behind the pink polka dotted chaise. Tikki, who had woken up when Marinette shrieked like a teakettle, giggled at the teenagers from her perch near the ceiling.

Marinette groaned, the sound muffled as she lay facedown on the floor. Adrien prodded her shoulder gently.

"You ok there?"

Inarticulate mumbling. He poked her again and she lifted her head a centimeter before speaking again.

"I said I'm still getting used to this. You."

"Getting used to me?" He bit his lip nearly hard enough to draw blood, a habit no number of reprimands from his father could break, and rocked back onto his heels. "I'm sorry... I- I know you've never really liked me as Adrien-"

Marinette shot upright, her eyes bright with emotion. "Never liked you? How can you even -" Her voice had risen almost to a shout.

Butterflies were performing acrobatics in his stomach, and he opened his mouth to reply, but she cut him off. "I've had a huge crush on you all year and you thought I hated you?!"

Marinette's face filled with horror as realization dawned. Adrien vaguely heard her start stuttering apologies as he considered the merits of spontaneous combustion. The space behind her chaise looked pretty good to him now, too.

"So you-" she nodded mutely, cheeks flaming. "And I... Ladybug. You. Oh my god. Oh my god."

She covered her face with her hands and squeaked. Adrien started laughing, unable to control the sparks of euphoria. For all those months...

"We're a mess."

...

"You will tell me who Ladybug is!" Gabriel's voice, shaking with rage, boomed against the bare walls.

"Hmm… Nope."

"Kwamis must obey their masters, and I hold the miraculous stone! Sooner or later, you will bow to me."

Plagg yawned, and only a flick of his ears – why must supervillains always be so dramatic andloud - indicated that he heard the implied threat. It was rapidly becoming clear that Adrien must take after his mother, despite the boy's occasional tendency towards melodrama. The man turned away from Plagg to face the cowering form of a purple kwami, who crouched and shivered against the wooden desk.

"Nooroo. Please explain to Plagg the consequences of disobedience."

"Master, I – I'm afraid that…" He shrunk further as the dull blue eyes narrowed. "You have no power over the black cat miraculous yet."

"WHAT?" roared Papillon, slamming his fist onto the oak surface.

"Um. You hold the miraculous, sir. But you do not own it. Until you are bonded with it – that is, transform – the magic only requires him to answer questions about the power of his miraculous, specifically."

That brought a smile.

"Plagg, transform me."

In response, the kwami merely stretched, trying to work the knots out of his back. Sure, catscould sleep anywhere, but they definitely preferred a cushion.

"TRANSFORM ME!" Oh, he was going to start shouting again.

"Sorry, Gabe, I'm just as weak as a kitten right now. Being traumatically ripped away from my chosen does that to a kwami, you know." Plagg stifled a snicker. He hated being hungry, but there wasn't much of a choice right now… and besides, these temper tantrums were hilarious.As Gabriel Agreste stormed from the room, he settled down for another nap, mirth fading to fear. He had to walk a fine line, protecting Ladybug and Tikki while hoping that Papillon didn't lose the last of his humanity and use his son's safety as leverage. He had a weakness, but it was quickly crumbling against the corruption festering within him.

Adrien, please hurry.


	4. Chapter 4

_"_ _Watch the boy."_ The impression of bright green eyes and blond hair flitted through Lila's head, a ghost of a memory. She struggled to bring the image into focus without strengthening her connection to Papillon and gasped as it solidified into a familiar face.

"I don't want him involved."

She expected the villain to be annoyed, but instead she merely felt a tinge of resignation in his words. _"He will not be in danger – merely bait. Ladybug appears to have a certain…_ fascination _, and I believe she will attempt to make contact."_

"Adrien will recognize me. He doesn't trust me."

 _"_ _You need not approach him – it is better to not draw any attention to the fox in the henhouse."_

"Fine. I'll do it."

 _"_ _Observe him and report where he goes and who he talks to."_

 _..._

Adrien stretched, feeling his spine pop in relief after spending a long hour hunched on the hard wooden floor. Beside him, Marinette picked up the diary she'd been jotting notes in while he described what he'd learned about over lunch. Looking at the sparse diagrams, he finally admitted to himself that there wasn't anything they could do yet. They needed more information – putting Tikki in danger to rescue Plagg and his ring would be, to put it bluntly, stupid.

As he pushed himself up, shaking out the pins and needles that began to prickle resentfully through his foot in protest, Tikki flew from his shoulder to hover in front of Marinette. Adrien could just barely hear their whispered conversation, though to be fair, he did try not to listen.

"Marinette, you have to tell him."

"It's not important yet!"

"You can't put this off. If you leave it too late – "

"I just – Tikki, I can't!"

The kwami nuzzled Marinette's cheek comfortingly and looped around to land on Adrien's knee as he sat on the chaise, struggling to keep his breathing steady.

"Tikki, Marinette, what's wrong?"

Tikki glanced at Marinette before opening her mouth, but the girl remained silent.

"As you know, Chat Noir and Ladybug are a team. They balance each other: creation and destruction, light and dark."

"Yeah, I know."

"It goes further than that, though. There can _not_ be a Ladybug without a Chat Noir, or a Chat without Ladybug, at least not for long – the magic in the miraculous is too strong to exist without an anchor, but its partner serves as a counterweight of sorts. When the chosen's soul is pulled in one direction by the power they hold, it can – _will -_ corrupt them."

Adrien couldn't move; the world went dull for a moment as understanding began to dawn. He turned to Marinette as she stood beside the desk, hugging her journal to her chest, his eyes begging her to tell him the kwami was mistaken, that he wasn't going to pull him down with him. When she finally spoke, the words came out as a halting whisper.

"It means you have to watch me. I might start to be… someone else. Think I'm smarter, or better, than everyone else. That I deserve…" she trailed off. Marinette's eyes were closed, and her fingernails dug into her arms as she clenched her fists. In his mind, he saw her framed against an oncoming wave, bracing herself against the dark, icy water that surged forward relentlessly, ready to devour and destroy.

Then he was standing next to her, gently pulling her towards him, though he didn't remember moving. She leaned into his chest, and he felt her shivering. Adrien felt a flash of déjà vu, suppressing blurry fragments of memories, of a cold stone floor and Ladybug's shocked, tear-streaked face.

"It'll be ok. You'll get through this. We'll get through this." Adrien murmured into her black hair, not totally sure if he was trying to reassure her or himself. Marinette nodded, and he realized once again how _small_ she was; the top of her head barely passed his chin. It wasn't something he usually noticed. Ladybug always seemed larger than life, and Marinette's charisma and tendency to steamroll any obstacles gave the impression of a much bigger physical presence. In any other circumstances, he would have teased her (and promptly gotten his butt kicked).

Tikki's high, melodic voice cut through the air, and the two pulled away from each other.

"Adrien, you still have a connection to Plagg – it's weak, dormant, but I can feel it. That will help stave off any effects for a while, at least. And I think… even without the Miraculous, you can help balance Marinette. But you will have to pay attention." She paused, her huge eyes sympathetic, and continued, "I know this will be difficult, but even with that, there's no time to waste. Neither of you are ready to fight Papillon again, emotionally or otherwise, but it won't be long before you have to – with or without Chat's ring."

Adrien didn't want to leave the Dupain-Chengs' apartment - didn't want to go back to his house where the ornate but empty rooms were filled only with lies and secrets, didn't want to abandon Marinette to her thoughts – but all too soon, it was time to go. He took some comfort in the knowledge that Alya would be watching over her tonight, armed with junk food as the two girls settled in with homework and gossip. Marinette and Adrien had decided on a cover story involving a run-in at the park to satisfy Nino and Alya, after he laughed himself silly for ten minutes when he realized exactly _why_ they were so interested. In retrospect, it was a bit obvious, even with his limited social experiences, that the two weren't just excited that Marinette and Adrien were finally becoming friends.

Marinette walked him to the side door, instead of the bakery entrance, reassuring him with a watery smile. Or maybe she was reassuring herself, because with every passing moment, Adrien was more and more sure that if anyone could hold out against moral corruption, it was Ladybug. He thanked Mrs. Cheng – _"Just Sabine, please!"_ she insisted – as she pressed a box of croissants into his hands. He was beginning to understand that entering _or_ leaving the bakery without food wasn't possible, and he wasn't going to object; his strict model's diet may be balanced, but it wasn't much fun. Though now, of course, he didn't have to account for the extra energy he burned fighting akumas, his body still protested the past few months of deprivation.

Adrien climbed into the car, already waiting outside, staring out the window in a daze as Gorilla navigated the few streets separating Marinette's warm apartment from the Agreste residence.

He didn't see the figure that slipped between alleys and flowed in front of buildings, detectable only as a patch of pavement that shifted in the steady light of the setting sun. Later that night, scrolling absentmindedly through the Ladyblog while his unfinished homework lay neglected on the desk, Adrien was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't notice the shadows that swayed in the garden below his window, twisting in a silent, writhing dance. Nevertheless, he couldn't stop staring at the familiar interplay of greys that spread across the ceiling above his bed, trying to ignore a strange sense of wariness that nagged at him throughout the night. It was only the next morning that he realized his window had been left open. He closed it, feeling like a rabbit under the eye of a hungry hawk.

...

"My body is a canvas, and _you_ will be the art!"

 _Of_ course _there had to be an akuma attack today,_ seethed Marinette, suppressing a groan. Despite all sayings to the contrary, Mondays weren't so bad – it was Tuesday that was the problem. If something was going to go wrong, it wasn't going to happen immediately, when you were expecting it. Oh, no, it was going to wait until you _thought_ everything was fine, and then hit you when you were complacent.

So, after a pop quiz, an unexpected downpour that left her shivering and damp all through Madame Bustier's lecture on early romantic literature, _and_ Chloé being even worse than usual, Marinette wasn't thrilled about fighting another possessed citizen instead of returning to the warmth of her bed for an hour or so.

And yet, here she was, leaping behind a tree to avoid a spray of dark, acidic liquid from La Tatouagent. The supervillain's arms were adorned with intricate designs – Ladybug could make out a paintbrush on the curve of her right bicep, and a pair of sneering lips on her fist, as the akumatized victim stalked across the pavement towards her.

From what she could piece together, the woman had gotten a less-than-perfect tattoo the night before, and become vulnerable to Papillon's influence after a coworker's snide comment.

"Oh, Ladybug, you can't hide from me! I always have an _inkling_ as to where you'll be."

 _Great. Her puns are worse than Chat's._ The thought, so automatic, was followed by a stark awareness of the empty space behind her, where her partner would usually be crouched as he snarked at their enemy; but the cat wouldn't be coming today.

More ink splashed against the tree trunk and sizzled, engraving deep channels as the rivulets coursed down the bark. Marinette jumped back to avoid several stray droplets, inadvertently exposing her location in the process. Tatouagent laughed and pointed at the heroine, and dye squirted from her razor-sharp fingernails.

Ladybug threw her yoyo and pulled herself to a nearby rooftop. This akuma wasn't particularly fast or dangerous, but there were so many bystanders, huddled in doorways and behind cars. She eyed the figure that had begun to scale the building, using her ink to melt handholds in the brick wall to climb closer and closer – this was _not_ a fistfight she wanted to deal with.

 _"_ _Lucky charm!"_ _Please be something easy, please be something easy,_ she prayed silently. It was a megaphone. _Really?_

She shook off her irritation and began to analyze the area. This part was always a lot like sketching new design concepts, drawing inspiration from anything and everything in her vicinity. She opened her mind, allowing creativity to flow through her thoughts like water.

A church stood on the corner, topped by a belltower that stretched towards the sky. A sudden breeze carried the sharp scent of fresh paint – an open can was perched on a ladder in front of the chapel doors, quickly abandoned when the attack began.

As she was preparing to jump to the next building, a voice piped up behind her.

"I'm on the scene now, and you can see Ladybug facing off with a brand new villain - no sign of Chat Noir yet!" Oh, no. No no _no_. Even Tuesdays weren't supposed to be this bad. But there she was. Alya's face was slightly red as she clambered off the fire escape and onto the roof, and she gasped for breath between words. "Ladybug, can you tell us anything about our friend there?"

As Marinette contemplated the merits of tying her friend up with her yoyo and leaving her in a nice, safe closet somewhere, another person pulled himself over the ledge and grabbed the journalist's arm.

"Come on, you have to get out of here, it's not safe!" Adrien's voice was caught between a whisper and a shout as he tried to drag Alya back to safety.

Her earrings beeped – she had four minutes to get her friends away from danger and capture the akuma. Tatouagent didn't seem to be in any mood to linger, either, and she jumped onto the roof, dripping with ink. It didn't seem to burn her, but puffs of smoke rose wherever drops fell. Alya's eyes went wide with fear and excitement, and she raised her phone, zooming in on the woman's face. She didn't seem to notice when the villain smirked at Ladybug and lunged forward.

"Don't let her touch you!" shrieked Marinette, but Adrien was faster.

 _"_ _Watch out!"_ He knocked Alya away from Tatouagent's grasp. Her hand hit his shoulder, and his eyes widened.

Alya's phone tumbled from her limp fingers as Adrien vanished.

La Tatouagent held out her hand to Ladybug. The silhouette of a small black cat was etched onto her palm.


	5. Chapter 5

The sight hit Marinette like a punch to the gut. She should be used to this by now, after watching countless civilians fall victim to akuma attacks. Losing Chat Noir halfway through a fight, whether he was sucked into an alternate dimension, mind-controlled or frozen in time, had become almost commonplace. But still, Ladybug was forced to fight against the wave of fear and rage that threatened to choke her as La Tatouagent wiggled her fingers, admiring her hand like she'd gotten a new manicure.

"Ohh, he was a strong one. So creative, so full of _energy!"_ She stretched, raking her nails through her short, fiery red hair, and pulled out a small hand mirror to inspect her reflection. "New ink always makes me feel simply _wonderful._ "

 _The mirror._ Ladybug hooked the megaphone's strap around her wrist, pushed her emotions to the back of her mind and smirked at the villain. "You want some more? Then _come and get me."_

In one smooth movement, Marinette looped her yoyo around a lamp post and took off, snatching Alya in one arm as she flew by. The girl let out a small yelp as Ladybug swung close to the street and dropped her, wincing in sympathy as her friend stumbled at the impact and scraped her hands on the rough pavement. _At least she's out of danger now._

By the time Alya scrambled back to her feet, Ladybug was perched on top of the bell tower, holding the can of paint, with Tatouagent close behind.

"Give me your miraculous, Ladybug, and I _won't_ crush you," she sneered.

Marinette slid down the domed metal to stand beside the enormous bell. "Don't worry about that – I think you need a little more _color_ first." The sky blue paint splattered over La Tatouagent's ink-stained hands, which were still clutching the looking glass, and covered every inch of her tattooed arms as Ladybug removed the polka-dotted bullhorn from her wrist. The akuma plowed toward her, bellowing, and planted a sapphire fist in the heroine's chest.

Ladybug braced herself against the assault, meeting Tatouagent's startled eyes as the breath was forced from her lungs. Just as she'd hoped, the coat of paint blocked her powers when it covered her skin.

"Sorry, can't tattoo dirty skin – you might get an infection."

With that, she slammed the yoyo into the metal of the bell, throwing her entire body weight behind it. Deafening clangs rang out through the city, echoing off of buildings and down alleys. The peals hit La Tatouagente, amplified a hundred fold by the megaphone. The woman covered her ears and staggered backwards, tripping over the low safety barrier – as she fell she dropped the mirror, which shattered soundlessly against the cement sidewalk as the booms faded away.

Marinette jumped down after her and caught the black butterfly that pulled itself from the splinters of glass, and allowed the cleansed insect to flutter away.

She felt her lips move as she yelled, " _Miraculous Ladybug!"_ Her shout was muted, distorted, vanishing into the air without touching her ears - the only indication that she had actually spoken was the flood of ladybugs that swept from the sky. She breathed a sigh of relief as they circled her, pulling the streak of blue from the front of her suit, as the sounds of the city rushed back. A second later, a crowd of people fell from the cloud of magical bugs: two women, one with a stylized peace sign inked onto her risk, the patch of skin shiny-red with irritation; a man in a grey business suit… and Adrien, who blinked and jumped up, his blond hair mussed.

Ladybug and Adrien were helping the confused victims to their feet when Alya caught up, pushing past the growing crowd of curious bystanders.

"Excuse me, Ladybug!" The young reporter raised her phone, returned to her by the cure. "Do you know why Chat Noir didn't show up? He's never missed an entire akuma attack before, has he?"

Marinette gritted her teeth; she didn't want to do an interview now and she _definitely_ didn't want to answer that question in particular. Even though she'd discussed the subject with her partner, it still felt like stepping into a minefield. The entire truth, that his ring had been lost to the enemy, could lead to public panic, while any lies would be exploited mercilessly by Papillon.

"Chat Noir will not be joining me for a while." Alya started forward, but Ladybug cut off her questions before they could be asked. "I'm afraid I can't disclose any more information right now."

Her friend wasn't satisfied by the brief answer, and she squeaked in protest as Marinette stepped forward and pushed the phone away. The terror that had struck like lightning when Alya and Adrien climbed onto the roof struck again, and this time it wasn't tempered by adrenaline. Images of her girlfriend tumbling to the tiled roof with wide eyes, the outline of a small black cat, countless _what ifs_ circled through her mind, interspersed with memories of the fight in _Église des Anges._

Alya might have been hurt, might have been _killed._ How could she be so _stupid,_ jumping right in the middle of a fight for an exciting blog update? Ladybug couldn't battle an akuma, without Chat, _and_ protect a civilian, let alone two.

Her outburst was cut off in the first syllable, ending as a strangled cough, when her earrings beeped again. One minute. _Damn._ She must have missed the previous warnings while she was deafened by the clanging bell. With a last glance at her friends, Ladybug turned and ran.

...

Marinette detransformed behind a dumpster – beggars can't be choosers, after all – and punched the corrugated metal. She clutched her bruised fist, her ears fading from the pink of exertion to deep scarlet.

 _I almost yelled at Alya because_ I _messed up. I knew she would take any opportunity to film a fight – she always does, and I wasn't paying attention. I let the akuma get too close to civilians, who knows who could have been hurt?_ And _I didn't do anything to stop Adrien from getting dragged into the whole mess, and he's the last person who should be near a fight like that. He's been pretending that Papillon won't hurt him again, but…_

Marinette stewed the entire walk home, and then dragged her exhausted body up the stairs. When she reached the landing, Sabine wiped her eyes and wrapped her arms around her daughter.

" _Maman?_ Is something wrong? Are you - is dad – is everything okay?"

Her mother sniffed and tightened her embrace for a moment before releasing Marinette.

"We're all fine, sweetie. But - " she gestured wordlessly at the television, which showed Nadja Chamack in front of a screen displaying a photo of the fight between Ladybug and Tatouagente, unmistakably a still from Alya's footage.

 _"... reports from bystanders indicate that Chat Noir's absence may be a pattern in the coming days..."_

Sabine sighed. "They're both so young, and such sweet kids. I hope the poor boy's all right."

Marinette opened her mouth to reassure her mother, but tears began to prickle in her own eyes as the stress of fatigue and dread finally seeped through the fog that had enveloped her mind. She thought of the façade of optimism Adrien tried to wear, despite the growing fractures. But his jokes were missing, his smile empty. She missed her partner, even when he was standing beside her.

"Me too, _maman_. Me too."

...

Alya and Adrien walked quickly back to Françoise Dupont. He was nearly late for his piano lesson, and Alya wanted to get back to her computer to edit the day's footage so she could upload it before dinner. She muttered to herself as they crossed another street.

"What did Ladybug mean, that Chat isn't going to be here? Did they have a fight, or is he hurt, or maybe she doesn't know? No, she has to know, she seemed really upset about it."

Adrien winced, struggling to form an impartial answer, but then realized that Alya wasn't asking him. He wasn't even sure if she realized she'd been thinking out loud. So instead, he took the easy way out and changed the subject.

"Hey, Alya... That was really dangerous. Getting so close, I mean."

She brushed it off. "It's nothing I haven't done before! Besides, Ladybug was right there. Where could be safer than next to her?"

"I'm not joking." He put a hand on her shoulder, and they stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. "She can't protect you and fight the akuma at the same time, especially… especially not by herself. You could have been seriously hurt."

Alya grinned at him. "But not for long – she always fixes everything! People are vanished and transformed and whatever every time, and it's always fine." She tried to keep walking, but he grabbed the back of her plaid shirt and held her back.

"It's not _fine!"_ He was yelling now. "She just lost her partner, and you think she isn't bothered watching the people she's trying to protect get hurt every time? Like she doesn't lie awake at night thinking that if she'd been a little bit faster, a little bit better, they never would have been in danger? If something happens, it doesn't just _go away_ when she throws her lucky charm, you're stuck with the memories forever, and so is _she_. Can you imagine if she was hurt because you had to get a silly picture, or if she had to watch you die, _all because you made a stupid mistake?"_

His chest was heaving, face hot. Alya was staring at him. Her cheerful brown eyes were huge as the color drained from her face. Tears started to leak from the corners, and Adrien cursed his outburst. He was stressed, but he didn't need to take it out on his friends.  
"Shit, Alya, I'm so sorry – "

Her head was bowed. "No. No, you're right. You're completely right. I didn't – I just… oh no. I didn't think." He rubbed her back gently as she fought for a breath. "Adrien, I'm so sorry I dragged you into that. And thank you. For pushing me. Wait. That sounds bad. I mean –"

"Don't worry about it. I'll shove you any time." He grinned, and Alya managed a small smile herself.

"Please don't tell Marinette about this."

 _Oh boy. This is awkward._

"Okay, I won't tell her. But this attack is already all over the news, so… I think you should talk to her. She gets worried when you're reckless."

Alya groaned. "She's going to _kill_ me."


	6. Chapter 6

[[note: this chapter was a collaboration with madimation, whom you can find on tumblr]]

Adrien completed his piano lesson absentmindedly, barely noticing the instructor's corrections and critiques. His fingers picked out the notes of Jardin sous la Pluie easily, but without any real feeling, and the grey haired woman huffed in frustration at his lackluster performance.

Finally he wandered out of the studio and into the street. His heart was heavy with the weight of his words to Alya, the shock and fear on Ladybug's face. When Alya ran up after the fight, he expected her to receive a tongue-lashing that would put the akuma's acid to shame, but instead Ladybug had frozen, only coming out of her trance when her earrings beeped again. The small frown that creased Marinette's forehead reminded him of her expression as Tikki described the problem of balance. Was it getting to her already, or was she too afraid to trust herself?

As he waited in the doorway for a car to pick him up, he thought about the patches of darkness in his peripheral vision that settled when he looked at them, but returned to their unsettling rhythm as soon as he looked away.

An akuma? But it started before La Tatouagente showed up, and we've never seen two at once before. It was an unsettling thought – either Papillon had powers they didn't know about, or he was stronger than they ever dreamed. Adrien quickly composed a text to Marinette, trusting her to see through the vague message.

The silver car pulled up to the curb as he finished typing and Nathalie stepped out of the passenger seat. She opened the door for him – an uncharacteristic, but not completely unusual action – and ushered him in before settling herself into the back as well.

"You will be having dinner with your father at seven tonight," she stated without preamble, flipping through one of the countless schedules on her tablet. He didn't reply. She cleared her throat quietly and turned off the screen.

"Adrien… this is no concern of mine, but I realize your relationship has been strained recently. Though I understand your reluctance, I would encourage you to listen to him, even if you do not agree. He does wish the best for you."

Does he? His father had always tried to protect him from danger, both real and imagined, and even as Adrien pushed against the interminable restrictions, he clung to them as a sign that Gabriel still cared about him. And now, after everything, he still wanted to believe it – but he wasn't sure he could.

...

Adrien resisted the urge to slam the door, borne of a sudden need to break the interminable silence of the still house. His room, which normally felt like the only home in the vastness of the mansion, felt sterile and empty without Plagg, and a prison without the escape of Chat Noir. Out of habit, and an idle curiosity regarding the part of the fight he'd missed in his stint as a patch of ink, he sat down in front of his computer and opened the Ladyblog.

Instead of a blog post or a video of Ladybug and La Tatouagente, page after page of reader submissions filled the screen.

Dear Chat Noir,

I was sitting on my balcony singing when you ran past on patrol. I didn't think you would hear me but then you stopped just within earshot. I hadn't sung in front of anyone since high school and was a little embarrassed that you had heard me, but you told me that you really wanted to listen to me sing some more. You asked if I could sing Au Clair de la Lune. You looked sad when I did but afterwards told me I had the most beautiful singing voice you'd ever heard. You gave me the confidence to try auditioning and I got my first small role in a musical.

I don't think there's a single person in Paris who hasn't been touched by your kindness. I wish you the best of luck in dealing with whatever it is you're going through and hope to see you in action again soon.

Thank you, Chat Noir.

Sincerely, Isabelle

Isabelle. Adrien hadn't known her name, but he could see her in his mind, her dark skin glowing in the balcony light. Her voice was soft and halting at first, before she embraced the notes like a long lost friend. Je n'sais c'qu'on trouva, mais je sais qu'la porte, sur eux se ferma… He had hummed along quietly to the echo of childhood memories.

dear chat noir,

you probably don't remember me but my name is agnes

a few months ago my kitty went missing and I told you when you were passing by and you said you would definitely find him for me

you came back 2 days later and said you couldn't find him but would keep on looking and gave me a magical bell that would let my kitty know I missed him every time I rang it and he came back a week later

i know everyone says that you're bad luck but I know when my kitty came back it was because of the magical bell you gave me!

thank you chat noir and please get better soon!

agnes

The little girl Chat had found wandering around a park, calling for her missing cat and crying her eyes out. He had walked her home and, as Adrien, sprinted to a nearby store when he realized she was fascinated by the golden charm that hung from his collar, returning several minutes later clutching a small bell.

Chat Noir,

Several months ago I became an akuma because no one wanted to try my new and different pastry flavor combinations. It was a horrible experience to lose myself like that, but I'm glad that I had Ladybug and Chat Noir to help me become myself again. A few days later Chat Noir came to my bakery and wanted to try my unpopular pastries and he said that they were absolutely delicious, and requested a dozen to take home with him. He told me to take a picture of him and put it in front of my shop so people would know my pastries were enjoyed by Chat Noir! Ever since then I have sold out of those pastries almost every day. Thank you, Chat Noir! Please feel better and feel free to come by for free pastries any time!

Your friend, Kerem

Biting into an éclair filled with poppy seed cream, transported back to the hamantash his mother made on Purim, as the baker glowed and thanked him. "Teşekkür ederim, Chat Noir!"

chat noir,

i don't know if this is alright for me to talk about but I'll leave it up to the discretion of the ladyblog, maybe they can send you this privately? I don't know.

you thought you were alone when i met you, i think.

i knew immediately what a kind person you were because you asked me if i was alright first. i don't think i've ever seen someone switch emotions so quickly. whatever you were upset about was suddenly unimportant and you just wanted to know why i was alone so late at night.

you walked me home and i didn't know what to say until you got ready to leave.

i'll tell you again what i told you then,

you don't have to do it alone.

just know that there are thousands of us who care about you and everything you do for paris, and we're all willing to lend a hand or an ear if you need it.

mélodie

Everyone thought they were so small, he realized, just an unmemorable blink someone else's life. Agnes, Isabelle, Kerem… Chat Noir, too. He continued to read, lost in photos and words of thanks; the memories were air after too long underwater.


	7. Chapter 7

Marinette sat down in front of her computer, a mug of tea and plate of cookies on the desk beside her. It still didn't feel right to spend a couple of hours fighting supervillains and then immediately start on homework, but that could be because she didn't like writing essays on French monarchs _before_ becoming Ladybug, either. Maybe she could write it at lunch instead – as she began to weigh the benefits of yet more procrastination, her phone chimed with a text from Adrien.

 _"_ _Sorry, looks like I can't meet you tomorrow evening after all – want to work on vocabulary at lunch?"_

Mundane, completely and utterly normal - except that they hadn't been planning to have a lesson on Wednesday. Instead, Marinette had promised to keep Alya company while she babysat her siblings, leaving no time for Chinese. Something was wrong, and if _Adrien,_ who had never been what one would call a master of subtlety as a civilian or Chat Noir, was being so careful… She showed the message to Tikki, who frowned from behind her cookie.

Tuesdays. What _was_ it with Tuesdays?

Marinette opened a new word document and began to type. She always had worked better under pressure.

She was only fifty words into the introduction when her phone began to ring again. _Alya._ For a moment, Marinette contemplated letting the call go to voicemail – she wasn't sure she was ready to deal with the reporter's blow-by-blow account of the fight earlier, any concerns for her girlfriend's safety brushed off with a joke or blithe comment. To be honest, she wasn't sure that she wanted to talk to Alya at _all_ right now. The anger from earlier was tempered with shame, but it still bubbled beneath her skin, ready to seep through at any moment.

 _No._ She wasn't going to hide.

"Hey, Alya." Instead of a torrent of sound, the syllables tumbling over each other in their rush to escape from the stuffy confines of her mind, the line was silent. "Alya?"

"Hi, Marinette. Uh. You know about the attack earlier."

"Yeah." Despite her best efforts, the word fell from her lips like it was made of lead. Another pause hung in the air, filling the spaces between the crackles of static.

"I'm sorry."

She finished her paper and printed it, still in a haze of shock. Her earlier rage had dissipated into mist during Alya's teary phone call, apologizing for worrying Marinette by putting herself in danger. It was, to say the least, not what she'd expected. The girl was sweet, caring, and smart, but not exactly self-aware, or completely in tune with others' feelings. Alya had a tendency to dismiss anything she didn't deem important, or anything that fell outside the scope of her laser-focused determination… or perhaps _obsession_ was a better word.

Still in a fog of surprise, Marinette pulled out her last assignment. Physics, of course. It wasn't that she didn't like physics – she did, most of the time – but it took so much _energy_. She groaned to herself at the thought; that was a pun worthy of Chat Noir.

As if on cue, her phone began to ring again. She jumped, startled, when it buzzed loudly, vibrating against the desk and empty cookie plate. Tikki, who had been napping on the warmth of her computer monitor, started at the insistent sound and retreated to a more peaceful corner.

"Adrien?" Marinette hoped desperately that this wasn't about the situation earlier, and he was calling to say that the situation had gone critical. Or that his father was holding him hostage unless she gave up her miraculous. Or –

"Marinette!" He laughed, giddy. She could feel his smile through the phone. It wasn't his model grin, but the one that was so bright and genuine anyone looking at him squinted instinctually, like they were trying to peer at the sun. It was the same smile he'd worn the after his birthday, her scarf draped around his shoulders despite the warmth of the day, and when she had given him her lucky charm when they were preparing for the Mecha Strike III tournament.

"Marinette, have you read the Ladyblog today?"

She fumbled for the keyboard, holding her cell phone between her shoulder and ear as she typed in the address.

"No, not yet, I'm looking now." The screen loaded slowly, pixels flickering into color one at a time. Finally, the website coalesced into a cohesive image. A message was pinned under the header.

 _Hey Ladybloggers -_

 _As you have probably heard by now, Ladybug has informed us that Chat Noir will not be joining her for a while. Past that, I don't know any more than you do – and I'm not going to ask. This is going to be a difficult time, whatever's going on, and we need to be there for them – after all, they've always been there for us. Returning the favor is the least we can do._

 _Ladybug and Chat Noir have dedicated so much of their lives to helping us, to saving Paris. Every time something goes wrong, they're there… and I know they do it because they_ care. _A hero isn't just a person with a cool suit, it's someone who has enough love to take the entire city, maybe the entire world, into their heart, and protect it with everything they have._

 _Like I said, I don't know what's going on, but I want to be there for Chat Noir and Ladybug. I would like to invite you all to send your stories and photos to the Ladyblog to let Chat Noir know that we're thankful for everything he's done, whether it was saving us from fire-breathing pandas or helping your grandparents with their groceries (true story, my grandpa talked about it for weeks)._

 _And finally… be kind to each other. Be kind to yourselves. We will always hurt each other and make mistakes, but together, we are_ strong.

 _Love, Alya_

…

The intercom buzzed: time for dinner. Adrien bounded down the steps, his mood astonishingly light. He was no longer dreading the upcoming meal; he wasn't looking forward to it, either, but it wouldn't be unbearable. He and his father would sit at opposite ends of the table, Gabriel flicking through emails on his tablet while Adrien toyed with his food. Beyond a few pleasantries, they wouldn't speak, and Adrien could pretend everything was normal and he _wasn't_ living with his archnemesis, just a preoccupied and distant, but well-meaning, father.

He almost ran into Nathalie as she exited the dining room, and as he skidded to a halt on the smooth marble floor he had the sensation that he was seeing her for the first time. She'd worked for the family for years, usually the first person Adrien saw in the morning and the last before he went to bed, but he still didn't _know_ her. Nevertheless, there was a bond between them. They were both bound by the whims and principles of his father, whose silent figure haunted their every move. He had been so wrapped up in himself and his problems for the last several years, but maybe he should try harder to talk to her.

"Hi, Nathalie. How are you?"

"I am well, thank you." Nonplussed, she held the wide oak door open behind her, waiting for him to enter the room.

 _So far, so good. Initiate advanced conversation maneuvers._ He suddenly recalled the elderly Golden Retriever that had accompanied her during her transformation into _La Défenseure._ "And how's Peg- your dog?"

Nathalie raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow, which arched delicately over the heavy black frame of her glasses. "I don't have a dog."

"Oh – um. I'm sorry, I thought I saw you with one when…" His voice trailed off. It was bad manners to mention a person's time as an akuma victim, in addition to raising the question of exactly _when_ he saw her afterwards. Officially, Adrien had been hiding in a storage closet in the school basement.

"Your father is waiting for you."

"Yes. Of course. Thank you." _Mission: Friendly Dialogue_ hadn't gone exactly as planned, but as he entered the cavernous hall with its long wooden table and uncomfortable chairs, he decided that it still counted as progress.

Adrien's cheerfulness faltered as he approached his usual seat, noting the distinct lack of a place setting. He glanced up at his father, who shifted his fork a fraction of a degree until it lined up perfectly with the ornately folded mauve napkin. A second setting was laid out next to Gabriel's position at the head of the table.

"We have both been so busy recently. I thought we could make the most of our time tonight." Gabriel smoothed invisible wrinkles out of the cotton placemat. Adrien crossed the thick carpet, his stomach sinking further with each step. By the time he lowered himself into the stiff chair his heart was beating hard enough that he was sure it was echoing through the room.

His father tutted. "Really, Adrien, I had hoped you would at least try to make yourself presentable."

Embarrassment and disappointment stiffened his muscles; his face remained neutral, thanks to years of modeling, but Adrien's fists clenched until his fingers cramped as he looked down at his clothing. Jeans stained with dirt from his fall during the akuma attack, a comfortably worn Jagged Stone t-shirt, and his customary white button-down, the elbows and hem visibly smudged. Normally the boy would have tried on and discarded a dozen outfits before dinner in an effort to mollify his father's keen eyes, but today he had been completely absorbed in the Ladyblog messages until Nathalie called him downstairs.

"I'm sorry, _Pére_."

"I am sure you were distracted by today's excitement."

Adrien nodded; his father's eyes narrowed. He pried his fingers from the stiff denim, now damp with sweat. "Yes, sir. It won't happen again."

"Your attendance has improved recently."

"Yes, _Pére_."

"I was becoming concerned that you were not sufficiently devoted to your decision to attend public school."

Fingernails dug into the soft skin of his inner wrists as he fought to keep his voice low and polite. "N-no, I was just –"

The door opened, saving him from having to answer. The chef's assistant entered, balancing a basket of fresh bread – the rich scent of yeast and flour floated through the room, a pale echo of the Dupain-Cheng bakery – and two plates of salad.

"Thank you, Dariel," Adrien murmered, smiling gratefully at the young man as he placed the dishes on the table. Dariel winked back at him from behind Gabriel, rolling his eyes as the designer did deign to acknowledge the sudden arrival of the entrée.

His father did not approve of speaking while eating, and Adrien relished the period of silence, which was punctuated only by the gentle click of silverware against china. He shifted until his knee was covered by the long tablecloth, obscuring the most offensive patch of grime. Adrien ate slowly, mechanically, trying to postpone the inevitable conversation, but a hungry teenager can only make a piece of bread last for so long. He eyed the remaining rolls – the chef always sent out a dozen – but his father cleared his throat quietly. The message was clear: _one_ piece of bread was permitted, no more. The diet of a model was strictly enforced.

Finally, his father set down the silver salad fork. "It appears that akuma attacks may be more dangerous now that Ladybug is working alone."

Adrien bit his lip until he tasted blood, desperately trying to calculate the appropriate reaction. His father knew he was – had been – Chat Noir. He knew his father was Papillon. His father did not know that he knew either the former or the latter little details… at least, as far as Adrien knew.

 _This is way too complicated._ He cast his eyes down to his empty plate as Gabriel continued speaking.

"Therefore, you must be more cautious. If there is an attack, you will call Nathalie and come home immediately, if it is safe. Otherwise, you will seek shelter instead of attempting to help others or getting in the way."

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as irritation sparked. "Yes, _sir_. But Ladybug's cure will fix everything if something goes wrong, won't it?"

Gabriel's face reddened. "Adrien, ensuring your safety cannot rest solely on Ladybug."

Ah, there was a response. Chat Noir whispered from the back of his mind, urging Adrien to push it further, and then keep pushing. "Do you think she's going to lose? That's not fair. She's been protecting us from Papillon for a year, we have to support her!"

"She is one girl, no matter what _powers_ have been granted to her." His voice had risen. It wasn't quite a shout, but it couldn't be categorized as simply talking either.

"Don't worry, I'll be careful. But I think we should let her know that we support Ladybug." His father's eyebrow twitched, the movement almost imperceptible behind his thick glasses. "How so?"

Adrien continued, caution thrown to the wind as weeks of hurt and confusion came to a head. "Well, it seems kind of crude to have a butterfly as the Agreste Company logo, what with Papillon attacking the city and all. Maybe you should change it until after she defeats him."

Adrien's heart beat a staccato rhythm against his ribs. If he hadn't been sitting across the table from Papillon himself, Adrien would have looked for a pair of purple wings fluttering against the frosted windows. His father was breathing heavily, every ounce of his self-control devoted to maintaining a calm exterior.

"Thank you for your suggestion. I will bring it up with the marketing team this week."

As if sensing the tension, Dariel entered the room again with the main course. Adrien barely noticed as a piece of braised salmon with hollandaise was scooped onto his plate, and his expression of gratitude was automatic, coming out several decibels louder than he intended, making his father wince at the breach of the special brand of Agreste etiquette. Adrien didn't care. His hands were shaking as he reached for his glass of water, struggling not to spill it over the table. He felt as if someone else had taken over his body, or he was Chat Noir taunting another anonymous villain. He raised his fork, too dazed to smell or taste the fish, when the unthinkable happened.

His father, who had not touched his food, murmured, "Do not put too much faith in Ladybug, Adrien. Her miraculous will take as much as it gives, and more, until it has left her with nothing."

He tried to swallow the bite of food. It stuck in his throat, and he took a sip of water to clear it. "What do you mean?"

Gabriel's eyes were nearly closed, his face taut. "Paris has always had heroes, and they have always fallen.

"You never knew why your mother left. I did not think it kind to tell you then, but perhaps now… It's time."


	8. Chapter 8

In that moment, Adrien would have sworn his heart had stopped beating; his vision swam, trickles of ice racing across his skin and leaving numb limbs behind, as Gabriel stood up from the ornate dining chair and faced the window. His father's pale, elegant hands were folded neatly behind his back. One finger absentmindedly caressed the silver wedding ring, and Adrien caught himself rubbing the pale band left by his own missing miraculous.

"You remember, of course, Tavâs and Le Chevalier Blanc." Adrien nodded mutely; everyone in Paris knew the story of the two beings who had burst into the city in a wave of glory twenty years before. They whispered, in voices subdued by shame and grief, of the end, of the woman in feathers carrying the limp figure of her partner into the darkness, a string of wet rubies in their wake. Four hostages. Three criminals. Two heroes. One police officer, and one bullet.

Tavâs had no miraculous cure, and after that night, Paris had no Tavâs. She vanished into the night, and for seventeen years, the citizens believed that whatever miracle that had granted them their saviors had died with the knight… until, that is, Ladybug and Chat Noir fell into their lives, and a phoenix of hope rose from the cooling ashes.

Gabriel's knuckles, white with pressure, belied the steady set of his broad shoulders. He took a deep breath before continuing. "Your mother was forced to abandon her duties after the loss of Le Chevalier Blanc."

 _My mother… my_ mother. Dimly, he recalled clumsily turning the pages of a large book of bright, intricate drawings. Tiny fingers gently touched a glossy picture, wanting to touch the animal's soft fur instead of the smooth paper.

 _"_ _Lion!" he had cried gleefully._

 _"_ _Yes,_ mon chéri, _lion._ _Aryê."_

 _"_ _Aryê," Adrien repeated. His mother turned the page, showing him a bird covered with brilliant feathers._

 _"_ _Tavâs," she murmured, stroking his hair. "Peacock."_

Gabriel's voice cut through the soft memory. "Despite her grief, she came to accept the benefits of a normal life. Aurélie returned to her friends and family. To me. A year later, you were born." He sighed heavily. "At the time, I was unaware of the cause of her… distance, and willing to put aside any questions."

Adrien was still frozen in his seat. His mind whirred, trying to put together the pieces. Was his father just telling a story, trying to soften the blow of Chat Noir's fall with twisted lies? Aurélie Agreste, holder of the peacock miraculous, mother of Chat Noir and wife of Papillon. It staggered the imagination. He hardened his heart, bracing himself for whatever came next in the tale.

"And then?" Adrien tried to keep his words neutral, but it was painfully obvious that he was begging to know, to finally find out why his mother had left him… even if it wasn't true, maybe it would still be an answer.

"When you were eleven, she began to disappear again. I would wake in the night and find her missing, and in the morning, she would hide fresh bruises and tell me that she was in the garden, she couldn't sleep. She missed meetings, appointments, dinners. Your birthday. Her excuses became bolder. I became desperate, begging her to tell me what was wrong, begging her to stay."

 _Searching the crowd at a piano recital for a pair of green eyes. Quiet dinners with his father, both of them glancing at the door every time the hinges whispered, only to see Nathalie or one of the many interns, who would then speak to his father in urgent, hissing whispers. The beginning of Adrien's true isolation._

"She didn't listen to me. She couldn't. My wife had picked up her miraculous again and was being consumed by it, her soul eaten away until she barely recognized me. Or you. And then… and then she was gone.

"I searched for a year, all over France – all over the world."

Adrien gripped the edge of the table to hide his shaking hands. He wanted to doubt, but the ring of truth wormed its way into his mind, leaving him breathless, once more a child waiting in the hallway for his mother to come home, day after day. She had been kind, selfless, giving… He had told Marinette that her smile reminded him of his mother's, remembering the days when his mother had still smiled.

For the first time, real fear flickered through Adrien, and he thought about her standing, head bowed, in her room of pastels and pictures. She would never give up her miraculous, sacrifice the city to save herself, and he no longer believed her iron will would be enough.

"Father..."

"This is why I wanted to keep you away from all of this. I didn't want to lose you too." The words were uncharacteristically sentimental, though Gabriel's face was smooth.

There were so many questions unanswered, but Adrien was sure of one thing: he needed to get Plagg, and soon.


	9. Chapter 9

Shadows flowing over crumbling bricks and gleaming windows as passersby laughed, bustled, rushed by; a patch of inky blackness in a dim alley, or blinding, dazzling sunlight against cars that gleamed under the morning sun. A literal wallflower, if she so chose, shimmering in and out of existence, a dream whose dreamer had vanished by the time curious eyes flicked back to the now-empty trellis. Her powers were a mere reflection of what they had been _before,_ when she had held reality in the palm of her hand, a child's toy – oh, how the memories had rushed back, intense as the bittersweet taste of cocoa and blood, when the butterfly had alighted upon her outstretched fingers… They were not enough to be seen, to be shown, but they _were_ enough to be unseen.

In school, Lila was a different kind of invisible: drifting between classrooms, between the careless elbows and oblivious laughter of her fellow students, or watching quietly from the background as they relished the warm spring air, spending the last few moments of their lunch period lounging on the school steps. She didn't hide. She didn't need to. It was simply that no one noticed her when she sat silently behind them, eyes down and ears open.

And she heard. Lila listened to their voices and their faces, and learned… she knew whose parents were getting a divorce, who was failing algebra. She carefully filed away Kim's difficulties during literature class (he needed glasses, but refused to acknowledge it, instead squinting at the board and doodling), Monsieur Damocles' bad knee (right, worse in the mornings, or before rain), the health problems of Ms. Bustier's girlfriend (probably not cancer, but it still hasn't been ruled it out, she had whispered to a surprisingly sympathetic Madame Mendeleiev between classes). Lila could have ruled Collège Françoise Dupont, offering a sympathetic ear or a deadly barb, but she bit her tongue. A part of her still longed for worship, but her eyes were fixed on something much, much bigger.

 _Ladybug._

The reclusive heroine was on everyone's lips, possibly the most talked-about person in Paris, but actual information was not forthcoming; even if kernels of truth slipped through, it was obscured by layers of gossip and fancy. _I heard she's a model from Nantes. Chloé says she's a special guest at the Hotel Paris gala next month – think we can get tickets? My friend says she's dating…_ Lila couldn't have done a better job of hiding Ladybug's identity herself.

For the first three days, Lila had thought that Papillon was clutching at straws when he told her to follow Adrien, at least with regard to finding the spotted girl. There was certainly more that he wasn't telling her, something hidden, a puzzle of words and silences.

On the fourth day, Papillon made a mistake; he forgot that she was no longer a little puppet who danced at his whims.

 _"_ _There is no need to follow the boy tonight."_

Oh, but what self-respecting snoop could resist such temptation? After days spent creeping along in gutters in hopes of the slightest shred of information, nights devoted to standing in the rain until her legs began to prickle and twinge, Papillon's words were an oasis in the desert.

She didn't follow Adrien that night. There was no need; she was already outside his house after trailing him home from his piano lesson. Instead, she merely cloaked herself in a soft pattern of dappled, fading sunlight and rustling leaves, and sat down to wait. Dark tendrils crept up the walls and around the gleaming windows, bringing the wind's gentle whispers to her ears.

Adrien, as usual, was a complete mess. His suave exterior had melted away as soon as she had taken a closer look – it had been a good mask, but she was the master of illusions. Certainly, it was a bit of a shock the first day, to watch the dreamy, intelligent blond's façade fade away to reveal a face full of anxiety and despair. His fixed smile was more of a grimace than a grin. Had he always been this broken? Lila couldn't remember, but still couldn't help but feel that she'd dodged a bullet; he was not boyfriend material. He would never have been able to keep up with her.

After the Incident, as she referred to it, she'd spent every ounce of energy trying to avoid his gaze. Everyone's gazes. She recalled the handsome model in the library, rhapsodizing about Ladybug, and a normal teen laughing with his friends. Well, his _friend._ Was he sad then, too? If he was friends with Ladybug, maybe he knew Chat Noir too. _Had_ known Chat Noir? With Papillon's sudden ability to control two akumas – at least – and the cat's absence, Lila was fairly confident about the overall string of events.

Whatever the cause, Adrien was unhappy. Lila's fingers of shadow quivered against the creamy stone walls when he slammed his bedroom door. Then she'd heard several deep breaths and a choked gasp, and braced herself to sit through yet another session of moping… but it never came. Seconds of silence stretched to minutes.

 _"_ _Marinette, have you read the Ladyblog today?"_

Lila's made a mental note to check the site later.

Another period of time passed – maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour, as her boredom distorted the seconds into days – and Adrien was summoned downstairs by his father's stone-faced assistant. Lila shifted to a better vantage point as he moved through the house, grateful for the opportunity to shake some life back into her numb, aching legs.

Smooth words, oil on ice, echoed through her shadows from what must have been the mansion's dining room.

 _"_ _We have both been so busy recently. I thought we could make the most of our time tonight."_

 _That voice._ This was interesting. Very, _very_ interesting.


	10. Chapter 10

Adrien's fingers were slicked with cold, nervous sweat, leaving specters of moisture on the gleaming silverware as he picked at his food. His father, all previous traces of emotion wiped away, sat beside him. They had not exchanged another word since Gabriel's proclamation.

The possibilities swirled through his head, water down a storm drain; debris floated beneath the surface, the foreboding shadows of half-truths and hidden secrets. Adrien was only sure of two things: His father was lying. His mother had been Tavâs.

The former was a matter of principle. Gabriel Agreste, the infamous _Papillon_ , viewed the truth as a bolt of fabric, to be cut and hemmed, sewn into a pleasing design for public consumption. And as for the latter… he could not explain the twist of his gut that stripped away all doubt. It did make a twisted sort of sense; without her partner to balance the miraculous she held, Aurélie would spiral into the poisonous grip of hubris as her emotions were slowly twisted and, eventually, stripped away. And yet… why? Why would she return to it, surely knowing what it would cost?

He thought of Marinette, of Ladybug, standing grimly between Papillon and Paris as the darkness nipped at her heels.

 _Hope is the thing with feathers,_ his mother had murmured to him – he knew it had to be mere weeks, months before she left, though any sense of exactness had been consumed by a grey. Adrien hadn't understood, as the vagaries of English metaphors were well beyond his meager grasp of the unfamiliar language, but he whispered them over and over to himself as he lay awake, straining to hear the soft click of a door or light footsteps padding down the hallway. Of course, the sounds never came, but he still clung to her. To hope.

The salmon was sour and rotten to his tongue, a sharp contrast from the increased craving for meat and fish that had manifested in first few months of his time as Chat Noir. After several glances at his father, who seemed unperturbed by the meal, he chalked it up to the anxiety roiling in his chest. Adrien forced himself to eat what he could, but he wasn't worried – after all, his father was never upset when he _didn't_ finish his food.

As he toyed with the unappetizing scraps on his plate, three questions formed, solid in the fog of his mind. First, how had his father acquired the peacock miraculous, and, for that matter, the butterfly? Second, who was – had been - Le Chevalier Blanc? Third,

And finally… what had his mother been fighting, knowing that she would lose herself even in victory?

…

It was late. Midnight? Plagg didn't know. The days had faded, streaming together as hunger, anxiety and boredom filled the small dark space. Time didn't mean much to an immortal deity, anyway – a kwami's understanding of the passing years was abstract, and their only importance lay in its implication for the miraculous holders.

And feeding periods. The hunger had pushed him to the edge of lucidity, and he knew that soon he would be forced to eat and bend to Papillon's will, or return to the dormant phase, sleeping until he was restored and called upon again. Neither option was attractive, but he was powerless to do anything but hope for rescue.

Plagg had been spoiling himself over the past year with Adrien, and he couldn't blame himself. A partner with access to any food, as much as anyone could ever want, at any time? After countless years lived before modern conveniences like supermarkets and refrigeration, through famines and war, hollowed eyes and growling stomachs… Memories washed over him, a minor respite from the restlessness that night and captivity brought. The cat's instincts, part of the form he had found himself in when Plagg and Tikki were first manifested, pushed him to pace and claw; it wanted to hunt, to prowl under dark skies.

That part was always hard for the heroes, as the nocturnal jaguar fought against the human longing for sunshine, bringing with it a predator that awakened to peer out from their eyes. Some embraced it – those were generally the ones who didn't last, whose pride and anger tore them down as effectively as any enemies. Others pushed it away, unable to reconcile the new part of themselves, the _hunter,_ and its calculating understanding of prey and death. Those didn't generally last long either; afraid of themselves, they shrank and withered, losing control and unable to make peace with it.

There were a few, a select few, who were able to accept their new reality without being consumed by it. The masters, guardians of the kwamis and their objects, had slowly learned to pick them out, the ones who could contain the duality of predator and prey within their souls. Compassionate, yet determined and unrelenting. Adrien.

Plagg feared the consequences if someone as brutal as Gabriel Agreste, already grappling with the effects of not one but _two_ unbalanced miraculous stones, added the power of –

He was jerked out of his reverie by a soft noise. The thick door of the safe muffled the sound, but his ears were sharp enough to pick out hesitant, unfamiliar footsteps making their way across the office.

Plagg weighed his options. The visitor was unlikely to notice the safe, hidden away behind its painting – and even if they did, would they be able to open it? The kwami had just enough energy to phase through and unlock the door, but not enough to carry the ring more than a few feet, a conundrum that had kept him both trapped and frustrated.

The question was, was the intruder an ally, or an enemy? Then again, what friend of Papillon's would be creeping around his house in the dead of night?

 _The enemy of my enemy is my friend._

He pushed himself through into the open air.


	11. Chapter 11

Lila crept through the mansion. Though she had carefully blanketed herself in shadows, her heart pounded as she slipped through empty hallways. Her own footsteps made her breath stop and stutter, and her heart froze in her chest every time she turned a corner, expecting a pair of cold eyes to pin her against the spotless white walls.

Lila stared in shock as a small black creature popped through the canvas of an ornate portrait hanging on the far wall. It hovered for a moment, its struggle against gravity perceptible even in the dim, silvery light that dripped over the sharp corners of the room, before drifting gently towards the floor.

Something in her, in the Lila that had existed _before,_ before superheroes and villains and magical subterfuge, begged to run, pleading with her to drop everything and leave the mansion without approaching the… thing. Despite the creature's diminutive size and obvious weakness, the ancient knowledge that she was prey in a world full of monsters that lurked in the darkness rose like bile in her throat.

But that was the Lila of before. She was no longer pitiful child who stumbled along between cities and begged for scraps of attention. The darkness didn't scare her anymore: she _was_ the darkness.

As if sensing her thoughts, it turned venomous green eyes on her, luminescent even in the pale moonlight, and it began to speak.

Its – his? – words came out in a croak, casting into her mind images of disease and destruction; it was every plague that had ever swept the land, every earthquake that had shattered lives. She had been right. This thing was dangerous. 

So incongruous were the words that it took Lila a few moments to understand what he was saying.

"Well, are you gonna stand there all day?"

It really could see her. She felt for her shadows, suddenly aware of the glint of a security camera lens from across the room, but her disguise was still there, brushing against her skin as delicately as cobwebs.

There wasn't really a choice to be made. She crept across the office and gently scooped up the sprite. Her skin crawled as short, soft hair brushed her palm, but her blood sang with the thrill of power.

"Open the safe behind the painting."

She complied. The canvas swung away from the wall at her touch, revealing a heavy metal box. The door was unlatched. Lila peered at the assortment of items scattered messily across the grey shelves that lined the safe; a few old books leaned haphazardly, abandoned for more interesting reads, judging by the thin coating of dust on their spines. A travel pamphlet was propped up against a framed photo of a smiling blonde woman – Lila checked the front of the painting to be sure – evidently the model for the portrait. The only other items were a gaudy brooch modeled to look like peacock feathers, a yellowing slip of paper, and…

… a silver signet ring with no seal cast into the lustrous metal. The bezel was flat and unmarked, but the ghost of a cat's paw in glowing green floated to the surface of her memory.

Lila was already reaching for it when the thing in her palm rasped, "Take the ring."

She contemplated grabbing the peacock jewelry too, but decided against it. If, as she was beginning to believe, the creature in her hand had something to do with the power of Chat Noir, then each miraculous should have some sort of magical mascot. The clasp showed no sign of a companion, and glinted cheaply in the weak light. It was probably a replica, just like Lila's necklace. Besides, tales of a fox superheroine had been passed down in her home city of Torino for generations, but she'd never heard of a peacock hero before. Anything that wasn't famous enough for her to hear about probably wasn't worth the energy it took to steal it.

A quiver of alarm twitched through one of the ghostly strands that stretched through the building, and Lila jerked her hand back and quickly swung the door shut before melting into the shadows that wreathed the office. She curled her fingers into a fist, trying to sense approaching footsteps in any of the mazelike hallways that twisted through the cavernous dwelling. A car engine began to purr, but the area around the study was silent and still.

Nevertheless, Lila pulled herself out of her reverie, unceremoniously stuffing the cat into her purse as she retraced her steps and slipped away into the night. She scarcely noticed where she walked, thoughts swirled through her mind in a dizzying waltz. On one hand, she felt sorry for Adrien, the sad boy who sat powerless in front of Papillon. On the other, if she wanted to hurt Ladybug Lila now knew where to strike.

And – she glanced down at her bag – she finally had the power to do so.

…

The clock ticked over to two, and Marinette awoke to heavy, sticky silence. Tikki hovered over her. It coated the walls of her room like syrup and flowed through the streets, trapping every sound from the distant sirens that normally echoed through the darkened city to the soft rush of her soft breaths as she pushed open the hatch leading to her balcony. Every window in the nearby buildings were dark. As Marinette watched, a streetlamp sputtered before extinguishing itself, followed by the next light, and the next. The quiet night felt watchful, and Marinette found herself moving carefully, touching her feet to the cool floor as lightly as possible as she reentered the bedroom.

 _Transform me,_ she mouthed. Marinette was relieved when her luck held and the pink light washed over her. Now, how would she find the akuma? Normally, Chat Noir and Ladybug just followed the screaming.

The last light on the street fizzled, giving way completely to darkness. For the first time in her life, Marinette saw the rooftops ringed with stars. The only light fell from a slim crescent moon, illuminating the outline of a city lost to a void whose reach was creeping ever onwards.

Ladybug was in the air before the thought had fully coalesced in her mind. As she slipped on the slick shingles during a landing, she thought, _Chat's night vision would sure come in handy right now._

However, as her eyes began to adjust to the night, it wasn't the clarity of sight that she missed most. Marinette had always relied on her eyes, losing herself to her vision as she sketched and sewed, but perfect silence was… disorienting, to say the least. She stumbled more than once, without the soft _snick_ of her yoyo to time her jumps, narrowly avoiding chimneys and towers in lieu of echoes that allowed her sharpened hearing to guide her across the rooftops.

But, at last, Ladybug was perched on the very peak of the Eiffel Tower. She tried not to look down into the dizzying darkness that swallowed the spire, which appeared to drop off into nothingness as her eyes strained against the weak moonlight. A vast circle of night was encompassed by the glow of distant lights, which retreated as the seconds ticked by. Marinette lifted her yoyo – mercifully unaffected by the akuma's magic-, comparing its map of the city to the landscape stretched out beneath her, and set a marker on the approximate center of the inky blackness. It was time to hunt.


End file.
